


Richer Fruit

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Gang Violence, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: Yahaba is ordered to cleanup Oikawa's mess, and meets Kyotani, who refuses to be put down.





	Richer Fruit

Yahaba's mother didn't tell him the truth until his father's funeral. 

The lie he had been told, along with everyone else, was that it was a robbery gone wrong. Yahaba's father had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, put up a fight instead of giving over his phone and wallet, and was left to die in an alley. 

The truth is, somehow, worse than that. The truth is that his father worked for wicked men, and was a wicked man himself. 

The truth is that Yahaba will become a wicked man, too.

He's in Sumadi, on Oikawa's order. He would not be otherwise, and is careful to keep his gloves on.

It's a filthy place. Streets with garbage in dripping, rotting piles on the edges, stray animals and spray paint in the alleys. Here, teenagers stroll down the streets in their uniforms during school hours boldly, gang tags tied around their upper arms or tucked into pockets, flashes of tattoos just barely visible above a low hanging collar. Mothers walk quickly down the sidewalk, holding groceries tight against their chest, and the hands of their children even tighter than that.

Yahaba knows there are pieces of Tokyo that are just as corrupt at its core, but at least it has the decency to pretend otherwise. You have to look twice to see it, and can ignore it if you'd prefer.

"What do you want, pretty boy?" 

Yahaba raises an eyebrow at the crudeness, though what else should he have expected from a street level gang, and from these very streets. 

"To give you an offer," Yahaba says. "From the Grand King." 

The room grows silent. They watch him with tight lips and wide eyes, a mix of anger and terror, which while dangerous and has Yahaba hotly aware of the blade strapped to his wrist, gun against his ankle, is a relief. At least they've got some sense.

"We didn't – "

" _Shut up_ ," hisses one of the smaller figures in the back, hair styled up, the center of his bangs bleached. "So what's he want?"

"He noticed the work you've been doing," Yahaba says, lightly, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket. "He's impressed. He has big things in mind for Raijin."

"Right, like what? Just say what you came here to say," says that same shorter figure, who is apparently acting as the leader, the much larger members of the gang behind him looking almost childlike as they linger uncertainly behind his tiny bulk.

"The Grand King is offering an official endorsement from Seijoh. More power. More money," Yahaba says. "You don't have to take him up on it, of course. It's a lot more responsibility, more to answer for – "

"No! No, we want it," says the leader. Yahaba remembers him now, from earlier visits, his name is Noya, and he crosses his arms, giving a challenging jab of his chin. "He didn't say you were coming."

"Well. The Grand King is unfortunately too busy to speak to everyone directly," Yahaba says, diplomatically. Really, this is low even for Yahaba, if there weren't... extenuating circumstances. "He has better – "

Yahaba jumps backward on reflex at the _SMASH!_ , dodging the falling glass and rock that goes rolling into the middle of the room.

Yahaba glances up in time to see a hand in the broken window, waving the middle finger before it vanishes.

"Fucking – go get him!!" Noya shouts, and three of the men standing at the door nearly fall over themselves to follow after. 

Taking scope of the room, Yababa realizes he's the most startled person there – for how on edge Yahaba's visit made them, they don't even seem all that surprised, one of them kicking the stone in annoyance when it rolls in range.

"Does this sort of thing happen often around here?" Yahaba asks.

Noya rolls his eyes. "It's this one guy, keeps vandalizing our stuff, just being a pain in the ass."

"He ain't even in a gang," says a larger gang member, with a bleached mohawk.

"Then he should be pretty easy for you to take care of, right?" Yahaba asks, smiling a very pleasant smile. 

"Well _yeah_. But, " Noya huffs, defensively. "He's – slippery."

"Mm," Yahaba says. In truth, he can't particularly disagree with whoever this guy is, or his decision to throw a rock through Raijin's hideout's window, but it's not the sort of behavior that can be tolerated. But Noya's goons come back empty handed.

"He got away."

Yahaba sighs, but decides to let it go, not allowing the disruption to derail his visit any longer. He tells Noya about Oikawa's new instructions, gives his very carefully worded threats of failure, tells him he will be checking in shortly, and he leaves. 

~

The best hotel in Sumeda is over nine hundred a night, but even here there are stains on the carpet in the lobby, and all the flowers set out for decoration are plastic. 

In the elevator, Yahaba stands carefully in the center, hands clasped behind his back. Even through his gloves, he feels the skin of his finger tingle as though infected from where he pressed the button for his floor. 

Down the hallway, room service from the night before is left outside the doors of his neighbors. A bottle of wine on its side slowly drips onto a piece of half eaten toast, then to the floor.

Skin crawling, Yahaba yanks off his gloves, tosses them in the trash, then pulls off his jacket, his shirt, carefully folding his clothes and placing them directly into his open suitcase. 

He steps into the bathroom, and it's been years since he started the work on his pale skin, but the bright colors in his reflection can still catch him off guard. 

Along his back, across his chest, down his arms all the way to his wrists: the story of Seijoh, the story of Yahaba and all the players involved, his mentors, his enemies, his family and himself, are tattooed into his skin.

Worn with pride, the sight of his bare body has been enough to make old man flinch away in fear, and empty steam rooms in bathhouses. 

Yahaba does not look twice today, stepping into the shower. The water pressure is strong, and Yahaba twists the spout until it pelts cruelly at his skin. He scrubs with the soap, scraping it off, over and over until the underside of his nails filled with unsettling, filthy gray from his day. 

Sumeda sits on the outskirts of Seijoh's territory now, but this is the city where the gang was born. Where it all began. It's a hassle for Seijoh's headquarters in Tokyo today, and they held onto it out of respect, but after a gang war destabilized the area, wiping out the few Seijoh members they had out here – old men, near retirement – Oikawa made the decision to cut if off completely. Let the local gangs reclaim it, swallow it whole.

Yahaba has bled and killed for Seijoh, for Oikawa, and he arrived at the station attempting to hold some level of reverence and respect for this city. He failed, today. He grimaces, attempting to steel himself to try again tomorrow.

~

Yahaba will have to get his hands dirty today.

There's nothing else to be done about it, his next task was an order from Oikawa, to Yahaba, directly. Yahaba would sooner cut out his tongue then betray such a trust, so he climbs up to the rooftops, and moves along them like a common robber, making sure to keep out of the eyeline of the streets below.

He's not sure if the building is under surveillance, and if Yahaba gets spotted here and now, it will ruin the entire plan. 

He's so concerned with going unseen that the rock actually manages to hit him – it's small, but it was thrown with some force and Yahaba scowls, rubbing at his arm, the dust it left there. 

The person who threw it stands on the rooftop just ahead. 

Scowling, eyes intense, hair buzzed and dyed yellow, expression furious and daring, Yahaba knows without having to ask that this is the person harassing Raijin, for whatever reason. 

Getting a decent look at him, Yahaba could almost feel pity – he looks young, and whatever squabble he has with the Raijin is nowhere near the league of the Grand King. 

Throwing rocks at Noya is not the same as throwing them at Yahaba.

"You should really be more careful about your aim," Yahaba says, feeling uncharacteristically charitable. "You might end up hitting someone you regret."

"That's a lot of talk for such a pretty guy," the boy says, and Yahaba is surprised – his voice is deep, pleasantly so. Almost melodic. Not what Yahaba was expecting from such a scowly, petulant looking teenager. 

"Seriously," Yahaba says. "I'm doing you a favor. Your petty gang fight is going to get you involved in things you don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" he snarls. "That you work for _Oikawa_? That he doesn't like the mess we made?" 

Yahaba blinks. He's not sure if even Noya knows the true name of the king. 

"And what mess is that?"

"The one that sent you assholes back to Tokyo!" he yells. "We handed you your ass before, and I can do it on my own right now!"

"I truly doubt that," Yahaba says, softly, taking off his suit jacket, carefully placing it over the ledge of the building, rolling up his sleeves.

"Try me!" He slides into a sloppy defensive stance, so full of petulance and anger it's almost charming. 

"I usually don't give a second warning," Yahaba says, twisting his wrist, just slightly, to feel the handle of his blade drop into his palm. "Go home, kid."

"My name is _Kyotani_. Make sure to tell Oikawa that!" Kyotani charges, jumping the distance between the buildings, and Yahaba easily evades.

"Charming," Yahaba says. 

Kyotani has strength, he can obviously hit with some force, but it's unpolished. There's potential – with strict discipline and time, he would be a very real threat. Yahaba does not doubt, now, that he had something to do with the Seijoh falling back, surrendering the city they once kept out of sentimentality and pride. 

But he is no match for Yahaba, and he can see the boy realizing this, himself.

Yahaba was trained by the Grand King himself, and he's not about to go crawling anywhere. In a move of pure desperation, Kyotani surges forward with all his weight, and Yahaba drops, taking out his single bracing leg, and sends him to the ground. He pulls out his blade, and telegraphs it enough that Kyotani has time to roll back, away, to safety. 

"Going to run?" Yahaba says, already eying the escape route Kyotani is almost certainly going to take – jumping up to the adjoining building, then off the ledge and onto the fire escape. 

Kyotani grits his teeth, ducks Yahaba's follow up kick and jumps, as expected. Yahaba follows, though mostly for show. The last thing he wants is a chase through this filthy streets, as enjoyable as the fight was. 

The boy doesn't know that though, and scrambles in his hurry to get out of Yahaba's reach – nearly losing his balance on the fire escape railing, and Yahaba actually finds himself tensing, sure he's about to watch him fall five stories – but then he's running again, tossing three rocks over his shoulder, forcing Yahaba to duck and dodge. 

Then he's on the ground, and out of sight. 

Yahaba hurries to the edge of the building, and waves a goodbye to Kyotani's retreating figure – and gets a middle finger in return. 

The whole thing put him behind schedule, and it should be annoying, really. Kyotani was obnoxious, untrained, unpolished, and rude, and he outright threatened both Yahaba and Yahaba's master. Somehow, though, he's in a much better mood as he continues forward, to Seijoh's old headquarters.

The building is silent, still and dark as Yahaba slowly descends through the open window. 

He takes in the scope of his work – two floors of belongings left behind by the previous occupants. Crawling in fingerprints, hairs, flakes of skin, spit, and, most damning, information.

Yahaba is going to make sure no one ever sees any of it. 

He wipes down each beaker, each piece of plastic, he opens each drawer and cleans each pen, scrapes off each piece of gum stuck to the underside of a chair. He visits the bathrooms and bleaches the toilets, the mirrors and sinks and walls, cleans off the scrawled graffiti on the walls, scoffing at the elite clan's apparent immaturity.

He finds the uncleanable – personal belongings from Tokyo, a pile of guns with the numbers still visible, and three computers. He gathers them up, scales his way out of the building and heads back to his hotel. 

"It's ready," Yahaba tells Noya, over the phone. "The old headquarters. You'll find all the tools you need to begin."

"So this is basically... drug stuff?" Noya asks.

... Yahaba closes his eyes, not entirely sure about the reaction he has to the incredibly naive question. "Is that a problem?"

"I – no," Noya says. 

"Then get to work."

~

Six years ago Yahaba was staying up late to study for exams, attending programs after school to help him study even more efficiently. 

He was soft, and innocent, and stupid. His parents allowed him to stay that way for far too long, and because of that he was a teary eyed, confused teenager the first time he met Oikawa. 

Oikawa saw him for what he was, and was patient, and merciful. 

He saw the potential in Yahaba, and knew he had talents that only needed time to bloom. When he messed up on his earlier missions, when he flinched and was reluctant to get the tattoos, when he struggled to hold a gun, to keep up in blade training, Oikawa was the one defending him to his own superior, saying anything that was worthwhile took time. 

The debt Yahaba's father left him to carry was only going to be paid with Yahaba's loyalty, and if that wasn't worth it, wasn't good enough, then Yahaba's sisters, grandmother, mother, would pay the price along with him. 

Yahaba's debt to the Seijoh is a number, a set of tasks, written down in black and white. His loyalty and gratitude to Oikawa is deeper, profound and sincere, and the thing that drives him now, six years later. 

"You're behind schedule already. You've had a week."

"Sorry, man," Tora says, and Yahaba can practically see the boy's face twisting pathetically. "We had some complications. But we took care of it!"

Yahaba closes his eyes, and almost presses a finger against his brow in frustration, stopping himself from the habit at the very last second, thank god. "I'll lie for you. This time. This is your only chance. After this, I'm giving you directly to the Grand King's."

"We got it man, it's gonna be good from now on! We promise!"

Yahaba hangs up on his sniveling, walking at a quick, irritated pace back to his hotel. Idiots. 

" _Back off_."

Yahaba usually has a better awareness of his surroundings than this, but had no idea anyone was there until he hears that voice – deep, soft, but this time, terrified. 

Yahaba turns around, and sees the form curled near the wall of the alley. It is Kyotani, sweating hard, gripping his side. Bright red beginning to seep through the fabric of his shirt. 

"They actually caught up with you?" Yahaba asks, surprised, and a little disappointed. Their fight before was brief, but it was clear Kyotani's skill was higher than anything Raijin had to offer.

"Back off," Kyotani warns again in a low, dangerous growl. "Don't – don't try anything. I'll kill you."

"In my experience," Yahaba sighs. He has found his calm, annoyance gone completely as he leans against the wall. "People who will actually kill you don't say it. They just do it. Usually scared children are the ones who have to lie about how dangerous they are."

"I'm a nice killer," Kyotani says. "Fuck you. Go away."

"You're going to bleed out," Yahaba observes this with a frown – this will almost certainly be Kyotani's last moments alive. It is late, Yahaba is tired and filthy from his day's work, but the urgency to get back to his hotel room fades. He can give this. Sit here, in this alley. Be a witness. 

"What do you care?"

Yahaba honestly isn't sure. He's lost count of the number of street level thugs like Kyotani he's taken out on Oikawa's order. Finally, he shrugs. "It's a pity."

Kyotani pulls his hand away from the wound and gives a frustrated moan at the blood. "I can't die. I've still – I have to – get Raijin... "

"Having a feud with those idiots may be the only thing more pathetic than being a member," Yahaba says. 

"They're – in the Oikawa's old headquarters. It's happening all over again," Kyotani says, tipping his head back, looking at the sky. "All that – all that, for nothing." 

"If it makes you feel any better," Yahaba says. "They won't be there long."

"What?" Kyotani asks, narrowing his eyes. He is breath is growing more shallow. Weak.

"Crimes happened here," Yahaba says. "People were killed, too many to cover up. Someone has to go to jail and Oikawa-san would prefer it be the members of Raijin's gang over anyone actually useful. I only moved them in there so the police can take them away."

"So _you_ – you and Oikawa. You're the guys I gotta kill."

"Well," Yahaba says. "There's probably a few more people in between, but yeah."

"I don't care," Kyotani says. Yahaba raises both eyebrows in surprise when Kyotani starts to stand, leaning heavily against the wall as he does. "I don't care, I'm gonna – do it."

Yahaba once watched a member of Seijoh stumble three blocks, his hands the only thing keeping his insides from spilling out onto the street. Yahaba has a keen, nauseating sense of deja vu as he watches Kyotani's legs wobble, sending him into the wall again. 

Kyotani does eventually drop to his knees, then to the ground, blood spilling beneath him. 

Yahaba sighs. 

He bends down beside Kyotani, lifts his shirt roughly, and looks at the wound.

It's not as deep as he thought. But he was right, it will bleed out without pressure or treatment. 

No one in the lobby looks twice as Yahaba walks in with Kyotani's limp heavy body leaning against him, arm over his shoulder, and he expects the drops of blood on the lobby floor behind him to dry into the carpet, becoming new, unsettling stains to the civilized members of society who have the misfortune of coming to this hotel.

"Doesn't – change 'nything," Kyotani is slurring badly on Yahaba's bed, trying to knock Yahaba's hand away as he wraps the bandage. "I'm gonna – 'm still gonna kill you."

"Not today, at least," Yahaba says, but he doesn't doubt Kyotani will eventually make an attempt. Still, he cleans the wound, wrapping it with thick gauze. "Can I ask what got you involved in this feud to begin with?" he asks as he works.

"Killed my dad," Kyotani says, deliriously. "Killed everyone. Ruined – ah, shit. Everything. Gotta – get revenge. I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna take Oikawa down."

Yahaba pauses. He is very familiar with the sins of parents passed down to their children, a burden to carry, to avenge, to repay. He starts to pity Kyotani for this suicidal task he's been given, then scoffs at himself, shaking his head. It's exactly the same as his own.

Kyotani passes out, then wakes in the early morning, the room still dark. He sits up, fast and sudden enough to shock Yahaba awake, watching Kyotani roll noisily off the bed. 

"Gotta go," he mumbles incoherently, grabbing for the shirt Yahaba tossed toward the bathroom in his hurry last night. 

Yahaba watches Kyotani from the bed, the massive blood stain on the bed beside him still wet. Even in the dark it is easy to see Kyotani is pale, his fingers and lips worryingly so. But he will recover.

"Thanks," Kyotani mutters, instinctive, clearly without thinking in the doorway, then winces. "I mean – uh. Fuck. _Thanks_ , but I'm still – "

"Yeah, okay," Yahaba waves him away, rolling back over and falling back asleep. He his Kyotani's blood on his hands, he's sleeping beside a puddle of it, but somehow it doesn't send his skin crawling like it should.

~

Now is the most integral time in Yahaba's plan. He must make sure no one will remember being told of the wares available; they must simply remember buying it, and from who. Yahaba's touch must be subtle, untraceable, unremarkable, unmemorable. 

"If there was anyone other than Raijin in this place selling it, I'd go there," Yahaba says, rolling his eyes as he passes the narcotics to his street contact.

"Raijin are in on this stuff now?" They say, in open shock. "I thought those guys were small time!"

"To be honest, I'm a little afraid to try it," Yahaba laughs. 

"No kidding," they laugh, but pocket the goods regardless. Yahaba smiles.

"I've heard they've had a bit of trouble lately," Yahaba says, then bites his cheek. He had decided that the bloodstained sheets will be the last of the boy, but... "Some kid hanging around their clubhouse, throwing rocks."

"Pfft, yeah," They roll their eyes. "One of the thugs from that gang war. He's the last one left now, and he's always tagging up the walls down here, too, he's a fucking pest."

Yahaba nods. A pest is right. Something that bites, invades its way into places they do not belong. But with the delicacy of this next step, Yahaba has hours and hours on his hands, days with nothing to do but exercise his patience. 

And it's so easy to learn more about this spray painting, rock throwing pest who makes no secret of his hatred of the Raijin. It's a small city anyway, and everyone knows of Kyotani, the delivery boy for a local grocer, who lives above a laundry mat. 

After three days of carefully casting his net, Yahaba finds himself going to that laundry mat, not even bothering to come up with an excuse for himself outside of the strange, lingering want to see the body he found crouched in the alley moving, petulant scowl back in his face.

He finds the apartment is still and quiet, and Yahaba observes it for several pointless minutes from the fire escape. He is about to risk entering when he hears a door burst open, and presses himself against the wall beside the window.

The door closes, and there's a few distinct thunks of objects settling, and then nothing. 

Moving slowly, Yahaba peers around the edge, to get a look inside. The space is depressingly empty. There's a futon, Yahaba presumes, under that pile of blankets and pillow in the corner. There's a table, low to the ground, with an abused pillow for sitting. And that's it. 

Kyotani walks through the space, heading to the kitchen. He heats some instant ramen in the microwave, then eats. The sun starts setting, and Kyotani doesn't bother to turn on the lights. Simply sits there as it gets darker, then moves to his bed. 

He groans, suddenly, breaking the silence, and lifts his shirt. 

The wound is unwrapped, still pink and healing, but it's healthy. No bright redness of infection. 

Kyotani winces, and pokes at the flesh tenderly, like a child poking the bruise. 

Watching him in this unguarded moment, Yahaba wonders how old Kyotani actually is. At what point his life was disrupted the same way Yahaba's was. If he had been born into a different city, would he be in school now? Have a better paying job? Have someone waiting for him at home to eat a meal with, instead of eating alone until it grew too dark to do so, then curling up on that miserable little futon, pushed into the corner, drifting to sleep?

It is time to leave, Yahaba's been here too long already, there's nothing more to see, honestly there was nothing _to_ see, Kyotani's life is an empty, depressing thing. Yahaba knows his chances to get away it without being heard will depend entirely on how deep of a sleeper Kyotani is. The fire escape beneath his feet is old, and creaks, and the street below has grown quieter, too, as the evening progressed. There will be nothing to mask the noise in Kyotani's silent apartment. 

Yahaba puts his foot on the rail, and there's a loud, unstable creak that pierces through the night, directly through Kyotani's window.

Yahaba jumps as quickly as he can, lands, ducking into the alley, but can see Kyotani has rushed to the window immediately, looking around. 

Yahaba falls into the shadows, but isn't sure if it was fast enough, then scowls at this reaction. Why is he scared? But he's not – not for himself. He doesn't want to give Kyotani anymore reasons to offer this meager life to a pointless fight. 

Kyotani is climbing out the window, though, and down the escape, and there's no exit to this alley. Yahaba is trapped. 

"I know you're there - there's no point in hiding," Kyotani calls, but actually looks surprised when Yahaba steps forward. 

" _You_ ," he snarls. "What – trying to get me while I was asleep?"

Yahaba tilts his head to the side. It's exactly what he _should've_ been doing, anyway. "You _did_ threaten to kill me."

"And I will," Kyotani says. "Your master, too."

"You know… " Yahaba really, truly does not understand why he's trying, he knows it's going to be fruitless, and really cannot identify what it is about this – Kyotani that catches and holds his attention. Maybe it's the inherent human sympathy in seeing someone so hopelessly overpowered, knowing it, and fighting anyway. "Oikawa-san's pretty forgiving if you give him the chance. If you wanted – if I asked – he would probably consider letting you join Seijoh."

Kyotani's face twists in _disgust_ , true, gut twisting revulsion, as if Yabaha held out the dead body of a rat and asked him to eat it. 

"That bastard killed my father," Kyotani says, voice hot with hatred. "He killed my city. Why would I ask for _his_ forgiveness?" 

"Right, sorry," Yahaba says, rolling his eyes. "It's much better to waste your life in this shit hole of an apartment, in this shit hole of a city – "

Kyotani moves so sudden and it actually catches Yahaba off guard, he's grabbed by the collar and slammed into the wall behind him. "Why are you licking his feet like this? He got something on you? Or do you just like it?"

With a twist and shift of his weight, Yahaba breaks Kyotani's sloppy hold. He shoves the boy backward, off balance, and follows it immediately with a kick to his open, unguarded gut. Kyotani bends at the waist with a grunt of pain, but Yabaha doesn't give him any time to recover, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him into the wall behind him, holding him there with a knife to his throat. 

"I was trying to do you a favor."

This is the point where they cower in fear. Where they see the evil Yahaba is truly capable of, and wilt, and weep, and beg.

"I'd rather die than become Oikawa's dog." Kyotani glares, not backing down, not for an instant, not even flinching when Yahaba presses the blade against his skin, threatening to cut flesh. 

Facing down a glare when there should be fear fills Yahaba with a strange urge, one he has experienced before, but never during anything like the here and now, so it takes him some time to place it. 

There is something equally infuriating, impressive, and fascinating about this thug, something about his inability to back down, even when he has obviously been beat, how plans to kill Oikawa Tooru with a pile of rocks, and how he's daring Yahaba, with narrowed eyes, to press the blade even deeper.

He kisses Kyotani. 

Hard, demanding, aggressive. Yahaba pulls back and looks at the boy's expression, his perfectly round, shocked eyes. 

Yahaba swallows, takes a pointed step back. Kyotani stays frozen against the wall, not even tracking Yahaba's movement as he walks calmly away, straightening his jacket.

~

Oikawa killed Yabaha's father.

Not directly, but he ordered the hit.

Yahaba learned this years ago, after Oikawa took him to his bed and fucked him, but before getting the blood red koi tattooed on his chest. It represents the bond between a mentor and student. It represents Oikawa. 

The fact that it had been Oikawa's order hadn't changed anything about Yahaba's situation, and he had not ruminated on it.

As far as Yahaba had been concerned, he was honoring his father as much as he could by repaying his debt. The idea – the idea of fighting Oikawa, getting _revenge_ on Oikawa – it would be like trying to find the highest tower in Tokyo, hoping to jump to the moon. It's absurd. He'd been so aware of how disposable his life was to Seijoh, he'd only ever been grateful that Oikawa had seen some worth in it.

He'd never – ever even thought to take affront to the idea that it was worthless at all to begin with. 

"How goes it, Haba-chan?"

"It's going well," Yahaba says. 

"Something wrong?" Oikawa asks on the other end of the line, voice chipper. He sounds like he's eating something crunchy.

"There's some minor complications."

Yahaba attempts to keep the description vague, but Oikawa knows who and what Yahaba is talking about immediately – he was down here last year, after all, trying to salvage what he could of the city. Kyotani knows Oikawa by name, so it makes sense that Oikawa knows Kyotani's.

"Jeeeeez, that kid's still around?" Oikawa sounds both impressed, and mildly annoyed. "You need to take him out. ASAP."

"Take him out," Yahaba repeats, distantly horrified. He's never questioned one of Oikawa's orders, never had the reason. Never valued – anything more than him – 

"Yeah, he's like a rabid dog, he is _not_ gonna stop," Oikawa says. And it's the truth, Yahaba knows it. "He's basically the definition of a loose end."

"Yeah," Yahaba says.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Oikawa asks. He's speaking with concern. He has always encouraged and rewarded honesty from Yahaba. "He's kind of an intimidating guy, if you don't think you can handle him – "

"I can handle him," Yahaba says. There are many, many ways he could handle him. He knows where Kyotani spends his days, he knows where he works, he knows where he sleeps, and in all of those places he is unguarded and vulnerable and burning with a loud, unrepentant passion that has apparently entranced Yahaba. He does not want to put that fire out. "I'll try."

"Let me know if you have any issues, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

~

"Those idiots?" Yahaba laughs in disbelief, a few days later, when his connection suggests using the Raijins as a source, as Yahaba did his job perfectly. No one would suspect anyone from the Seijoh had a chance to hear about the Raijin's sudden good fortune, their sudden new enterprise.

"Yeah, I don't know," says his connection. "Apparently they're making quality stuff. At a pretty dependable pace, too."

"I find that hard to believe," Yahaba says. Then they turn the corner of Yahaba's hotel, and his eyes widen. 

Sitting on one of the stone planters with an undersized tree growing in the center is Kyotani. 

He sits up straight when he sees Yahaba, jumping to his feet. Yahaba's connection looks between the two of them in confusion. 

Shit. He's certain Kyotani doesn't realize it, but he has the means to ruin Yahaba effectively as any death, with just a few words of what Yahaba told him that night in the alley. He grits his teeth.

"I have to take care of this," Yahaba says, leaving his connection on the street and physically drags the startled Kyotani into the lobby, then to the elevator. Kyotani is bigger, probably stronger than Yahaba, and seems to be continually surprised at Yahaba's ability to overpower him. 

Yahaba throws him against the elevator wall as the doors close behind them. "You're starting to become a pain in my side."

Kyotani gets his balance and immediately shoves Yahaba against the doors. "Me? You're the one that came here and started – following people! And – " Kyotani's face twists up in something new. " _Doing things_ to them."

"And now you're following me," Yahaba says."To my hotel. To where I do business. What do you want?"

"I want – " Kyotani huffs once. As if he wasn't expecting to be asked this. "You to know if you try anything – like that. Again. You'll regret it. "

Kyotani says with such stilted, furious embarrassment it's pretty obvious he means the opposite. 

Yahaba takes a step closer and Kyotani startles like an animal, pressing himself against the wall. 

Yahaba puts a hand on Kyotani's chest, pressing lightly, and it pins his froze body more solid than any hold Yahaba's ever done. 

This time it's a soft, innocent kiss, the press of flesh alone, Kyotani's lips scrunched comically beneath his. Yahaba pulls back slightly, breathing once against them, running his tongue against Kyotani's bottom lip softly, and it's like a magic spell – his lips open just slightly. They kiss until the doors to Yahaba's floor open.

"If you want to kill me," Yahaba says. "Now's a pretty good time. We could always kiss some more instead, though."

"That – " Kyotani pulls back again, then shifts his way around Yahaba, giving him comically wide berth. Teasing him was obviously going to result in this, his show of anger, but Yahaba enjoys it too much to regret it. "I just said – "

"Very well," Yahaba says. He turns and heads for his room, feeling Kyotani's confused stare on his back as the elevator doors close, sending him back down to the lobby. 

Yahaba cannot be seen at the new Raijin hangout anymore, not at any cost, but he knows this is where Kyotani is certainly going to be. 

He waits on a roof between the boy's apartment and Raijin, and smiling to himself when he sees Kyotani come running into view.

Kyotani sees Yahaba's figure and slows to a stop a roof away.

"Here to stop me?"

"Not at all," Yahaba says, staying where he is. "It'd be nice if you didn't get yourself stabbed this time."

Kyotani scowls, then jumps off. 

One of the many murdered must have been the brains behind Seijoh's take down. Kyotani has the energy and the skill, but does not know how to channel it. It's like watching a dog chase a car. 

He tells Kyotani this, after he's finished for the day, and he gets him pinned against the roof.

"You do not know what you're doing," Yahaba says.

"And you do?"

"I always do," Yahaba says. Because he always – always does what he's told.

Except when it comes to Kyotani. Who had him following him across the city fueled by nothing more than aimless want... in retribution, Yahaba makes Kyotani come, right there on the roof, jerking him off through his jeans in rough, tight motions of his hand.

It's obvious Kyotani has never been touched like this before, he is both terrified and desperate, eyes closing tight, and Yahaba can feel his hot, panting breath against his palm, which he's pressed tightly over Kyotani's mouth to keep the noise down.

"No one's ever done this for you before?" Yahaba asks, slowly moving his hand up and down his hardness.

He's so overwhelmed he doesn't even look defensive about the challenge to his virility, just closes his eyes and moans. He jerks his hips up eagerly, coming as soon as Yahaba gives the slightest attention to the leaking tip, gasping like it took him off guard. 

"If," Kyotani starts, awkwardly, hovering both hands around the general area of Yahaba's crotch. "If you want."

Yahaba shows him no mercy, just watching with one raised eyebrow and a grin. 

Kyotani uses his hand, and it's clumsy – Yahaba has smacked and been smacked by partners for better handling, but for some reason, here, between the two of them where there should be the most need for bravado, Yahaba stays silent. He finds himself closing his eyes and breathing slowly, pressing his face against the side of Kyotani's neck, surprised to find the skin there surprisingly soft. That, combined with the sharp smell of sweat might be the thing that gets him off, it certainly wasn't the clenching grip against his dick.

"Not bad," Yahaba says. "For a start."

He spends enough time with Kyotani to learn the smell of his sweat, and come, and he's essentially the living embodiment of this city. This should be something repulsive, Yahaba should flinch when it comes in contact with his skin, but if anything he savors the taste.

Eventually, he gets Kyotani in his hotel room.

This is the first time Yahaba sees him without a shirt. 

He stares, openly, mouth slack. 

"What's that?" he finally asks, pointing toward one tattoo in particular.

"A lotus," Yahaba says, looking down at the wide blossom on the right side of his chest.

"That?"

"The peony," Yahaba says.

"You got a lot of flowers."

"Flowers usually represent the cycle of life. How quickly it's finished," Yahaba says.

"You have a lot of dead to remember?" Kyotani asks. 

"My fair share," Yahaba says. He watches Kyotani pull of his own clothes. He's more familiar with Kyotani's body already, the still pinking wound carved into his side. Outside of scars, his skin is unmarked. Clean.

"How old are you?" Yahaba asks impulsively, sitting shirtless on that mattress, Kyotani's naked body beneath the sheet beside him keeping his arousal at a steady, easy burn.

Kyotani glares up at him suspiciously, then apparently decides it's not worth a fight. "Eighteen."

Yahaba licks his lip, not sure how to feel about that. "Eighteen," he says. "I'm eighteen, too."

They stare at one another, reevaluating. 

He'd be interested in finding out if Kyotani reaches some conclusion about this, because he certainly doesn't. At times Kyotani seemed so much younger, but at others so much older. 

Eventually, Yahaba decides to solve this awkward quandary by swallowing Kyotani's hardness in one go.

" _Shit_ ," Kyotani gasps in shock, hips rocketing up from the bed, and Yahaba grins, pleased, turning his head to take Kyotani back in at another angle. "Ya-Yahaba," Kyotani gasps, hands on Yahaba's shoulders, shaking as he thrusts up in obviously involuntary twitches of his ups, shallow and quick.

Despite what the men of Seijoh said in the past, Yahaba was not terribly fond of cock sucking, but this is different – he does enjoy this. He enjoys the raw, open reaction. Kyotani is uncensored in all his passions, and his calloused hands, that tight – brutal grip on Yahaba's shoulders as he gasps and shouts in pleasure. Nothing like the humiliating cruelty Yahaba once associated this task with. He licks along the underside of Kyotani's dick before lifting his head, and he grimaces, gasping. 

"Don't," he says, sharply. If he was hoping for it to sound like a demand, he failed. He's begging, hand cradling his cock as if to comfort it from the loss of Yahaba's mouth and tongue. "Don't – don't be a jerk."

"A _jerk_ ," Yahaba repeats with a laugh. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"Yahaba," Kyotani begs, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Mm," Yahaba says, swayed by the need he sees in Kyotani's face, and returns to his still wet dick, but not without slicking his fingers in oil first.

"Aaah," Kyotani breathes, overwhelmed by the dual sensation, and then he's coming, bucking up into Yahaba's mouth, then back onto his fingers. It took him several tries to be comfortable with anything near his ass. He was so sure it'd be painful and unpleasant that he didn't have any sort of defense for the reality, melting for the pleasure, and Yahaba is addicted to this sight, watching him come on his fingers. 

He's agreeable, pleased and soft from coming as Yahaba hoists Kyotani's legs up, onto his thighs, around his hips. This fucking, it's not like anything Yahaba's experienced before. With a woman it is a performance, with a man it is a show of dominance, but this is... not. He enjoys the look on Kyotani's face as he's fucked, mouth slowly dropping open, then suddenly back up as he bites down on his lip.

Yahaba comes hard, thrusting with as much force as he can manage, and Kyotani shouts his encouragement, jamming himself back onto Yahaba's cock.

They fall apart on the bed, catching their breath slowly. Apparently feeling brave enough now, Kyotani reaches out and starts tracing the lines of Kyotani's body, eventually asking about the figures. 

"Oni mask," Yahaba says, as Kyotani traces the sharp, demon-like horn. 

"Yeah, but why?" Kyotani says. "The rest are all – "

"They're what?"

Kyotani looks embarrassed, muttering under his breath, "Pretty."

Yahaba laughs. "The oni is me."

Kyotani doesn't like that. He spends some time searching Yahaba's body, and eventually points toward the tattoo on his flank.

"That one," he says. "That's a better you."

Yahaba lifts up his arm, looking at it. It's mostly filler, branches of a cherry blossom. That is his father, the cycle, his death.

"You aren't going to stop," Yahaba says.

"Stop what?" Kyotani asks. 

"Trying to kill Oikawa-san."

Kyotani looks surprised, then averts his gaze. "I guess... I guess I can't kill you. But yeah. I still have to kill Oikawa."

"You do know that's impossible," Yahaba says. "No one can kill Oikawa-san."

"You could," Kyotani says. "If you wanted."

This isn't a hint, it isn't a suggestion, it's just an observation, and it's true. If anyone has access, means, and the knowledge... Yahaba is one of the few. But he wouldn't. Ever. Ever. Not anymore than he could jump to the moon.

Yahaba will have to go back to Tokyo, soon. Everything is in place, it's all in motion and moving smoothly. He could have dropped the ax a week ago. But Oikawa expects Kyotani dead. Oikawa expects the ridiculous, harmless members of Raijin to end up in prison.

"What will you do when you're done?" Yahaba asks.

"After I kill Oikawa?"

"Mm."

"Whatever I want."

"And what is that?"

"It's whatever I want," Kyotani says, looking a little embarrassed that he doesn't have an answer. "I'll figure it out then."

Yahaba nods.

Eventually Kyotani falls asleep, and Yahaba gets a call.

"Haba-chan," Oikawa says. "How's everything in Sumadi? You should be ready to pull the trigger soon, right?"

"I can't," Yahaba says.

"… Should I send someone to help?"

"You'd be too late," Yahaba says.

Oikawa is silent for a moment. "I hope you're at least trying to leave on good terms."

"I'm sorry," Yahaba says. "You should probably make yourself scarce for a while."

"You've got it that bad? _Really?_ For that – mad dog?"

"Sorry."

"You realize what you're doing," Oikawa says. "If you turn, you'll be an enemy of Seijoh. All of Seijoh."

"But not my family."

"Ugh. _No,_ " he admits, reluctantly. "You paid their debt. But – you. When Seijoh reaches you, it will be brutal and I won't be able to show you any mercy."

"I understand."

" _Haba-chan_ ," Oikawa whines, like a toddler, at the idea of being forced to crush the life from Yahaba's throat, some day in the dark, awful future.

"I'm sorry," Yahaba says again, and hangs up.

The next day, he checks out of the hotel. He goes to the local police department, and he leaves the three computers, the pile of registered guns, and the knickknacks from Seijoh. In the next year, Oikawa Tooru will be connected to the murders in the small, miserable city. Seijoh will be scattered. For the first time in his adult life, Yahaba will not have a master, or a direction, or a place to go, but he figures Kyotani will probably have an idea or two.


End file.
